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By John I. Blair

A tree that slants
Across this street
Points me home,
Marking as it leans
Where I must turn.

Through the years
Itís been mangled
Time on time
By careless hands
Yet still it lives.

Should that day come
When it disappears
I fear I will be lost
And doubt Iíll learn
My way again.

©2019 John I. Blair, 8/6/2019

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